Page 31 of Choose Me

EIGHTEEN

JAMES

My eyes flew open as my body jolted awake, a searing pain burning in my throat like scorching coals. I was lying on the couch with Brock kneeling beside me. He handed me a glass of water, which I graciously accepted, and helped me sit up. My throat felt like it was lined with shattered glass--raw and parched. I gulped it down desperately, feeling the cool liquid flow down my throat like soothing ice and quenching the raging fires of pain.

"How long have I been out?"

"You've been in and out of consciousness for about ten hours."

"Fuck, I'm never drinking again. My head feels like it was repeatedly slammed into a car door."

"I screwed up," I muttered, barely able to look him in the eye.

Brock sighed, "Yeah, you did. But what's done is done, so now you need to think about how you're going to fix it."

I nodded solemnly before taking a sip of water. He was right; I had to make this right with Ava, or else there was no hope for us.

"I'll call her," I said finally, reaching for my phone.

"Wait," Brock said, holding out his hand to stop me. "It's going to have to wait. We just got called into work for an emergency."

"An emergency? For what?"

"I don't know. I just got the call. Apparently, it's a big deal because the whole team got called in. I need to know you are good before we leave."

"Yeah, man. I'm good."

"Well, take some Tylenol and get dressed. We leave in five."

I nodded silently before taking another sip of my water, downing the two 500 mg tablets of Tylenol he had left on the end table.

A short while later, we trudged through the halls toward the briefing room, anxious to find out what the emergency was. Most of the team had already taken their seats around the long oak table. I could feel Agent Scarlett's eyes piercing my soul as I sat down opposite her. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips were pressed in a thin line. She crossed her arms and uncrossed them impatiently, tapping her fingers on the armrests. It wasn't until the door opened that she broke her gaze from me. The Chief of Forensics stepped in, a slender man with a 1970s mustache and grey hair, followed by the criminal department's senior analyst. Both wore grim expressions on their faces and wordlessly made their way to the head of the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for coming in on such short notice.” Chief McMasters addressed the room. “Due to the time-sensitive nature of this information, I will be getting straight to business. Early this morning, our forensics team ran a test on a small area of what looked like blood on a blanket that was found in a halfway house, suspected to be the last known location of Margaret Callahan. Initial analysis revealed an unknown male's DNA. However, here in the Bureau, we like to be thorough, so we ran it through a second time. The second analysis revealed a DNA match to David Commons, a former inmate of the Massachusett State Correctional Institution near Boston. Commons was released from prison after being exonerated when Agent Buchanan brought the real killer to justice, Benjamin Callahan."

My heart started to race as thoughts started connecting in my brain. The connection we had been so desperate to find was beginning to form. I grew restless in my chair, and Brock lifted his hand, signaling me to stay still.

"As you all know, Margaret Callahan is the sister of Benjamin Callahan, so we ran David Commons financial records into the federal database, and we got several hits at gas stations along I-95 heading into New York. The most recent transaction was two days ago at a hardware store near 5th Avenue, a few blocks from an industrial sector. Unfortunately, the store owner did not have any working cameras, but we were able to retain the list of items on the purchase receipt."

Brute force duct tape, 50-gallon black trash bags, claw hammer, knife, Grade 80 industrial chain, vinyl tarp, 3/8 bed bolt, potato sack, and bleach.

The list continued with different size screws and some miscellaneous other hardware, but the sick feeling in my stomach grew with each item read aloud.

"The team is going to head up to New York effective immediately to work in conjunction with the headquarters there to end this once and for all. Wheels up in an hour. Brock and James, please stay behind for a few minutes. The rest of you are dismissed." He announced as murmurs of shock and concern around the table as everyone took in the news and hurried out of the briefing room.

"This next part might be difficult for you to hear, Agent Buchanan.” The Chief turned towards me with an apologetic look on his face. "We just confirmed that Margaret is in Manhattan, and we think she may be in league with Commons."

"How long?" I interrupted.

"Excuse me?" He questioned.

"How long has she been in Manhattan, Sir?"

"Two days ago, a CCTV camera caught her in a coffee shop a block from your penthouse."

"Fuck." I cursed under my breath and shot up from my chair.

"A separate plane is on the tarmac, ready for your immediate departure, James."

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